Tonight, Tonight
by Katie Havok
Summary: Their Jacob is a stout figure standing blankly in the rain. He blends seamlessly into the background cacophony of New York at dawn, yet this obfuscation does not make their separation any easier—and Tina can no longer blame subway dust alone for the tears in her eyes. [Or: Newt stayed for a week after the events of the movie. This is what happened in that time.]
1. Chapter 1

_**December 8, 1926**_

Their Jacob is a stout figure standing blankly in the rain. He blends seamlessly into the background cacophony of New York at dawn, yet this obfuscation does not make their separation any easier—and Tina can no longer blame subway dust alone for the tears in her eyes. She hesitates a moment longer, allowing them all one final, lingering look, before clasping Newt and Queenie to Disapparate them all home.

They materialize in the sitting room. Queenie beats a hasty retreat to the bedroom and closes the door emphatically behind her. Tina flinches, but there's nothing she can do for her sister, so she turns her attention to someone she _can_ help. Newt crosses the room on shaky legs to collapse onto the couch, hiding his ravaged face in his filthy hands. His shoulders shake with delayed reaction, and Tina bites her lip in indecision until an idea comes to her.

She sets the kettle to boil and fetches porcelain cups the No-Maj way, allowing Newt time to compose himself. He's watching her carefully when she returns, eyes suspiciously bright in his dirty face. She sets the tray down with an apologetic wince. "I'm all wet with domestic spells," she explains while worrying the edge of her jacket. "I'm not much better doing it without magic, but maybe this will help you feel better."

Newt chances a sip, grimaces, and sets the cup hastily aside. "Thank you," he rasps, and his eyes fall to his pitted hands, where he morosely picks his cuticles. He makes no move to clean himself up, lost in his own misery. Tina chews her lip indecisively before brushing his shoulder with a tentative hand. He goes eerily _still_ at the contact, eyes riveted to the floor.

She keeps her voice pitched low when she speaks, using the same soothing tones she'd used on Credence beneath the city. "I know Gra— _Grindelwald_ hurt you down there. I could hear it as I was running up the tunnel. Can I...would you let me help you clean up? I'm good at those spells, and I have some medical training."

Tina holds her breath as she watches him swallow, his throat working. Newt keeps his eyes fixed on the floor while he slowly shrugs out of his coat and passes it to Tina. It's heavier than she expects but she makes no comment while sending it to a corner to clean itself with a deft flick of her wand. He watches it hover while his trembling hands fumbled at his bow tie.

Tina doesn't allow herself time to think—she simply reaches out and takes over, sure fingers brushing his aside while plucking the knot loose, leaving it to hang around his neck. His eyes drift closed as he inhales carefully. Tina pretends not to notice his discomfort.

"Is that better?" She asks softly, and he nods. The tremble in his hands worsens when he unfastens his waistcoat and devolves into full-body quaking while he struggles out of it.

"—Sorry—," Newt manages through clenched teeth. Tina watches his knuckles turn white, and faint worry gives way to real concern.

"I've got you," she murmurs while working his rigid arms out of the garment. "Did Grindelwald use the Cruciatus curse?" She tries to keep her tone relatively light and unconcerned, but the worried quaver in her voice gives her away.

Newt shakes his head, jaw clenched. "No. Electricity," he manages to bite out, and Tina can _hear_ his teeth grinding together. She frowns in thought but makes no further comment.

Peeling off his grimy waistcoat reveals that his white linen shirt is stuck to him with sweat, reduced to milky translucency over his chest and shoulders. She sucks in a sharp breath when she notes the dark splotches marring his skin. She weighs her options with her lip caught between her teeth, eventually deciding there's only one reasonable course of action, and steels herself for a suggestion she knows he isn't going to like.

"I need to take your shirt off, Newt," she tells him with all the confidence she can muster, and maybe she's misread the situation because he doesn't respond. He just rolls his eyes to glance at her before looking away, gaze deeply miserable. "I am sorry," she says meekly and tries very hard not to look or think or _feel_ as she peels the filthy shirt off him. Tina barely smothers her shocked intake of breath at what's underneath and is blind to his increased trembling increasing as she stares.

His back and sides are riddled with the beginnings of intense bruises, in all shades of blue and purple. The discolorations are interspersed with livid red lines that resemble the roots of a tree, branching down his arms to his wrists, up his neck, and over his shoulders. Beneath those is a patchwork collection of scars: scratch marks and puncture wounds and burns and a smattering of star-shaped keloids that she thinks may be the remnants of _gunshot wounds_. All of this, layered atop a motley cacophony of freckles—his skin a tome of imperfections retelling the story of a life lived rough, stretched over compact and defined muscle.

Tina realizes she's gaping when Newt makes a pained sound, his eyes searching her face in confusion. She snaps her jaw shut while forcing her mind away from the wonder that is his body, fingers shaking badly when she drops his shirt to the floor.

"You're hurt," she begins and clears her throat roughly when her voice cracks. "I'm going to clean you up, and then I have some salve for the bruises. I don't think I have anything for the...burns. I'm sorry."

Newt remains entirely passive but watches Tina carefully as she uses her wand to summon a soft cloth, a basin of water, and a variety of unguents from the small medical supply cabinet. The items line themselves neatly on the small table before them, a perfect row of soldiers which she sets upon eagerly.

The root cause of his shaking can't be sourced but Tina suspects a calming draught may alleviate it somewhat, so she starts there. She pours the potion over his clenched teeth until he swallows it convulsively, eyes never leaving her face. The potion takes effect almost immediately, causing his gaze to turn distant and hazy while the tremors work themselves out. He's still _incredibly_ tense, wound tightly enough to snap, but his skin no longer ripples with goosebumps so she counts that as a victory. Newt sighs deeply through a tight jaw, and his hooded eyes convey his thanks before he blinks them closed.

Tina is immeasurably relieved when his oceans of green-gold are hidden behind delicately purple lids. No longer feeling scrutinized, she moves with confidence as she wets the flannel and gently pats the damp cloth over the worst of the bruising. She can smell him from this close proximity, a sharp tang of spent adrenaline and masculine sweat, over an earthier scent she catalogs as simply _Newt._ She responds to these odors on a visceral level while carefully ignoring the ramifications of her reaction.

Newt exhales shakily when she unscrews the lid of bruise salve, a furrow denting the skin between his eyebrows when he opens his eyes to watch her dry him with a spell before scooping out a generous dollop. "This is going to be very cold," she croaks apologetically past a dry throat. He tersely hunches his shoulders while looking away when she moves closer. Tina takes a fortifying breath before rubbing the pungent paste into his skin, noting the way he holds his breath when her fingers brush against him. She catalogs the texture of his skin while she works, committing it to memory while plastering a clinical expression on her face, feeling anything _but_ objective.

Tina can't help lingering on his skin for a moment or two past the saturation point of the ointment. His scars and freckles fascinate her, despite her efforts to remain impersonal. Fine tremors transmit through her fingers until she switches to healing his other shoulder. His breathing is ragged by the time she's finished, each exhale ending in a high-pitched wheeze. She can see that's he's watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. The angle of his head and the heaviness of his gaze reminds her of those terrible moments in the Death Chamber, where they'd both come so close to ending, and she shudders involuntarily.

Newt grimaces while cutting his eyes away. "Thank you," he croaks, and Tina firms the line of her mouth. She vanishes the filthy water before cleaning and refilling the basin.

"You can take a bath tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess," she murmurs as she scrubs the back of his neck. "I don't think you can manage it now. You're liable to drown." Her voice is intentionally light, almost unconcerned, and he snorts something halfway between a laugh and a sob. Something in Tina's chest squeezes painfully at the sound, and she valiantly swallows down the lump in her throat as she moves onto his hair. It crackles with holdover static, stubbornly resisting any attempt at cleaning it until she frustratedly casts a series of imperviousness charms and uses her wand to douse him.

He looks like a drowned kneazle as he glowers at her, all straggly hair and feline intensity with water trickling down his neck. Tina chokes back a semi-hysterical giggle and dries his back and shoulders before raising the cloth to his face. His hand flashes up to clamp manacle-hard fingers around her wrist without warning, causing Tina to freeze.

Newt dampens his lips, tongue a flash of pink in the low light while searching her face. He relaxes his grip in increments before dropping his eyes to her shoes. "My hands are still too shaky," he admits on an unsteady exhale. Tina gets the sense that this confession costs him a great deal. "Do watch my eyes, they've itched terribly since we returned."

Tina cleans his face with maternal tenderness, dabbing the grit out of his eyes while he sighs and finally, _finally_ relaxes into the cushions. The rasp of his three days' stubble against her fingers sends a pleasant tingle down her spine. Newt swallows and swallows, eyes tracking her every movement while she dabs at the edge of his jaw and down the column of his throat. Then she's cleaning his chest and stomach, and he's once again breathing carefully.

She presses _hard_ into his sides, hearing his small grunt of surprise but no hint of pain. "No broken ribs," she declares with palpable relief and chances a small smile. He narrows his eyes at her warily before focusing just to the left of her face. Tina stifles a disappointed sigh and resumes her task.

"Thank you," he husks when she declares him finished, and Tina ducks her head in silent acknowledgment. She dries him with a spell then knits her hands together while looking him over with a critical eye. He's clean enough, and the bruises have faded considerably. Still, the strange lines are a vivid, painful mantle over his back and arms, and he still trembles slightly with the after-effects of spellshock. Goosebumps chase over his skin while Tina engages in a fierce internal battle. Newt watches this without comment until her common sense wins out.

"I think you just need to sleep," she finally decides, instead of _take off your pants and let me clean the rest of you._ It would be a wildly inappropriate suggestion, but she knows he's going to have to sleep on the couch and she's not sure she'll ever be able to get the dust or his scent out—to say nothing of the memories.

Tina swallows down the strange, watery feeling in her chest and sends all her supplies back to the medicine chest. She squats to remove his boots and cast a gentle _Scorgify_ on his lower half, along with a series of protective charms on the couch. She then takes his arm to help him recline, fine muscles stiff and unyielding beneath her fingers and covers him with her mother's knitted afghan.

Newt closes his eyes while relaxing into the cushions. Tina lingers uncertainly. She wants to pull him close and brush the hair away from his brow. She also wants to flee the room and hide in a corner to pick at the confused knot of her feelings. Frozen with indecision, she hovers until he opens his eyes and looks at her questioningly, his gaze disarmingly direct. She grimaces while stumbling back a few steps. "Um. You...sleep. I'll go, uh—Queenie. I'll go check on Queenie."

Calloused, trembling fingers tentatively reach out to touch her wrist. "Thank you," Newt says, sea-green eyes earnest where they meet hers. Tina blinks away sudden tears. They stare until the moment draws out into awkwardness, and Newt drops his hand to settle more comfortably on the couch. He sighs deeply and much of the tension leaves his frame when his eyes drift close.

Tina watches this reticent, careful man lower his guard, gaze lingering on his face as warmth suffuses her chest. Then she snaps herself out of the trance he'd induced and starts toward the bedroom—only to change course abruptly and cross the room in three strides.

She closes the apartment door behind her and trots down the hall to the communal bathroom, where she leans her forehead against the mirror and runs the hot water until the glass fogs over. Her eyes prickle, her hands shake, and she isn't sure if it's exhaustion, relief or something else _entirely_ making her feel so raw.

 _Pull it together, Goldstein_ , Tina admonishes herself sternly, but she can't shake off the feeling of storied skin beneath her fingers. She can't forget the gleam in his eyes as she stripped him of his layers, or the elegance of his fine build, or the way his hair had felt between her fingers. Even the _scent_ of him, something she knows intellectually should have been unpleasant, had worked its way into and through her, curling around forgotten places to light sparks in the darkness. _Enough!_

Tina summons her toiletries and a clean set of pajamas and sets about brushing her teeth while determinedly _not_ thinking about the man sprawled on her couch. She strips and takes a bath, water temperature just this side of too hot in an attempt to scorch away thoughts of him. It doesn't work; if anything, the heat intensifies her imaginings, her _feelings_ , until she's breathless with frustration.

She very determinedly ignores her hardened nipples as she scrubs until her skin is pink and raw, yet _cannot_ ignore the trickle of heat that flares to life when she washes the juncture of her thighs. Tina groans while knocking her head against the side of the tub. _"No,"_ she reminds her libido before grimly drying and dressing.

Newt is deeply asleep when she tiptoes back into the apartment. His head is canted at an uncomfortable-looking angle and the blanket has slipped, revealing his wholly masculine chest. Tina bites her lip with indecision before creeping closer to tuck the Afghan more snugly around his shoulders. He shifts and murmurs, eyes tightening in response to a dream, before settling back down with a sigh. The sound sets her nerve ending alight, all prior admonishments forgotten. Heart pounding, Tina takes one last long look at him before creeping away, feeling simultaneous guilty and almost unbearably aroused.

 _This is not good,_ she thinks and flees into her bedroom.

Thoughts of Newt quickly fly away, however, when she finds her sister collapsed onto her bed, deeply asleep. Queenie's still in her good about-town dress, shoes kicked carelessly to the floor with a crumpled hankie clutched in one hand.

Tina's heart wilts at the sight. She tugs a blanket over her, causing Queenie to whimper in her sleep. Saddened and defeated, Tina crawls into her sister's bed to tug her closer. Tina lays a kiss onto her forehead when Queenie sighs and presses into her side. She's deeply asleep again moments later.

Tina frets until exhaustion takes her—bitterly questioning the wisdom of the law, wondering at Newt's actions, the way he _looked_ at her and what it all _means_ , but above all fearful of what the future may hold.

* * *

Tina achieves a soupy vestige of consciousness sometime past noon that same day if the position of the sun is to be believed. She wakes alone, neatly nestled in her sister's bed, and frowns until the memory of the previous night and very early morning floods back in.

 _Queenie,_ she thinks, and on the heels of that: _Newt!_

She springs from the bed and stumbles across the room, scrambling to fling open the pocket doors. She isn't sure what she expects to find—Queenie wringing her hands in agony, perhaps, or maybe Newt sprawled over the couch and begging for her. It _isn't_ her sister blandly stirring something that smells like eggs in a skillet, or Newt bending over carefully to retrieve something from his case.

Tina gapes, momentarily flummoxed.

"Good morning, Teenie," her sister says softly. Newt cranes his head to look over his shoulder. His hair is damp and he's mostly dressed, freshly-pressed waistcoat and bow tie hanging loose. He's scrubbed pink and clean, and the only thing that gives away his troubles of earlier is the purple crescents of sheer exhaustion beneath his eyes. He's also clean-shaven, the line of his jaw smooth and burnished in the light from the window, and _that_ intriguing notion causes her to gulp.

Newt stands, carriage still a bit stiff and smiling awkwardly. "Tina. Good morning." His eyes meet hers for only a second before skittering away, and she experiences a pang. Before it can take hold, however, Newt slowly pulls out a chair and indicates for her to sit. She notices a citrusy, woodsy scent clinging to him, and it takes her a moment to realize that it's his _aftershave._ Her knees knock together and unhinge while she collapses gracelessly into her seat.

"The younger Miss Goldstein's cooking breakfast, though I suppose it's actually lunch," Newt murmurs, genially ignoring her struggle with gravity while taking his own seat. "She insists that I need to eat, and I suspect she's right. You are also in need of sustenance, and I need help with my creatures—I'm still quite sore, you see. After we've fed ourselves and if you are amenable, would you be willing to join me down in my case?"

Newt speaks mostly to his placemat, but Tina can see the worried furrow between his brow, the way his restless fingertips map the grain of the table. _He wants my company,_ she realizes slowly, and simple joy suffuses her. "Of course, Newt," she replies happily, and gives him her most winsome smile. It simultaneously dazzles him and makes him forget himself, just as she'd intended. He holds her gaze with no sign of hesitation, eyes wide and hopeful with newfound understanding. Then awkwardness sets in and they both look away to mumble trivialities.

"Oh, you _two,_ " Queenie huffs, and if it's a pale, gray imitation of her usual vivacity, no one comments on it. Instead, they tuck into their late breakfast with relish, heartened by the December sun and the warmth of familiarity.


	2. Chapter 2

**_December 9, 1926_**

Newt awakens to hard pre-dawn darkness, jaw locked against a cry. He jerks upright and buries his head in his hands, throat working as he tries to swallow the bitter taste of nightmares. This is the second night he's entertained such dreams, and while they're not unfamiliar, the return of things he'd long believed put to rest rankles somehow. It speaks to some vestige of pride he'd long ago thought burned away.

He breathes shakily until he feels in control, then squints at his battered alarm clock. It's set to go off at half-past and it's on the hour now, so it's an easy decision to get up and start his day. He tidies his sleeping area before fetching his hygiene case and sneaking down the hall to the communal bathroom.

He takes a quick whore's bath in the sink before shaving the Muggle way, pulling faces at himself as he absently works the lethally sharp straight-razor over the contours of his cheeks and jaw. Newt's careful to wash away all traces of coppery stubble when finished; this is a women's only boarding house, and it wouldn't do to get Tina and Queenie in trouble for their kindness.

 _Tina..._

Newt shakes her name from his mind, determinedly packing the woman and all the _feelings_ she inspires into a neat little mental box. He splashes on aftershave and dresses himself while carefully _not_ thinking about her: standard white linen shirt, buttoned tightly to the throat; trousers the color of freshly-turned earth, faded from years of wash, wear and tropical sun; simple brown pinstripe bow tie, out-of-fashion but far safer for creature work than the long neckties currently favored; waistcoat the color of pre-harvest wheat, comfortingly snug.

He fastens his abalone cuff-links before appraising his appearance with a critical eye. He shrugs, seeing only himself as he looks each day, determinedly not wondering how _she_ sees him while gathering his items to creep back to the apartment.

Newt very narrowly avoids colliding with the woman of his thoughts as he eases through the door. Tina leaps back to dissolve into giggles while he blushes and blunders away. "Sorry," he whispers as he stows his bag. "Didn't realize you were up. I was just, um." He can't say, _I was thinking about you while washing_ without sending the wrong impression, so he cuts himself off and stares at his stockinged feet until her laughter resolves.

"It's fine," she says finally, waving her hand. "We'll both live. Is there any hot water left?" Newt blinks at her dumbly for a moment or two, mind going to _very_ inappropriate places at the question, before wrenching himself back to reality.

"Yes, there's hot water," he mumbles, unable to prevent his eyes from finding her face. "I didn't use it all. I only needed a shave, really." He runs his knuckles over the smooth line of his jaw as he speaks, and watches as her eyes track the movement of his hand. She flushes slightly but doesn't look away when he catches her staring. Newt swallows an unnameable emotion while holding her gaze.

They stare until the moment spills over from awkward to uncomfortable. She's the first to drop her eyes, drilling holes into the floor while her hands flutter like wounded birds. "Okay. Uh, I'm going to go clean up. I'll make breakfast when I get back if you don't mind waiting."

Newt seizes the opportunity to repay a little of their kindness. "I can prepare breakfast if you'll permit me. I am a rather capable cook." He tilts his head, curious. "Where is the younger Miss Goldstein, is she still sleeping?"

Tina sighs and shifts and Newt sees in her posture the same tender, peeling aches his own brother had directed toward him from time to time, usually when he'd buggered up catastrophically. It sends a nostalgic pang through him and momentarily distracts from thoughts of Tina in a bath.

"She's not doing so well," she finally admits. "She misses Jacob. _I_ miss him, and I know how wrong it is. This entire situation is balled up."

"I miss him, too." Newt murmurs as he and Tina lock eyes to share a moment of perfect understanding. The moment deepens and draws out, growing intense and _heavy_ when Newt loses herself in her lovely, dark gaze until she blinks and looks away. He focuses on her lips instead, wondering distantly how they'd feel against his own, curious if they're as soft as they look, eager to know how _clean_ she'd taste—

"Bath," she says suddenly, causing Newt to start violently.

"Breakfast," he rejoins, and very firmly drops his eyes to the floor.

Tina marches to the door, only to turn abruptly and jog into the bedroom. "Forgot my clothes," she explains breathlessly, trailing the leg of her slacks behind her. The door slams ringingly in her wake and Newt snorts laughter into the silence. He stares at the wood for a moment, allowing his mind to wander after her before grudgingly hauling it back.

"I've always thought of clothing as being optional," he quips around a smirk and wanders into the kitchen to see to breakfast.

* * *

The weak December sun is warm on his face when Newt strikes out later that morning, well-fed and shored up by Tina's awkward attempts at conversation. Queenie joins them eventually, looking a bit more _herself_ despite her hair tucked beneath a kerchief and her generally sleep-disheveled state.

Tina lights up when Queenie puts in her appearance. Newt sits back and watches the sisters interact while they eat his food, a warm glow seeming to suffuse the entire room, and he's careful not to disturb them while cleaning up. Then he pulls on his boots and suit jacket and his blue great coat while winding his school scarf around his neck.

Queenie looks over and smiles at him gently. "We'd be happy to watch your case, Mr. Scamander. He ducks his head in grateful acknowledgment.

"I'm off to MACUSA, so I think that'd be best. Thank you, Miss Goldstein."

Queenie waves his thanks away while Newt pretends not to notice the suddenly worry on Tina's face. He glances out the window in an attempt to get a bead on the weather before retrieving his brown dragonhide gloves and tucking them into his pocket. Then it's time to leave, and he shifts awkwardly while Tina stares at him from across the room.

"Well," he settles on awkwardly, "I'll be back in a jiff. Must go give a statement, see if I can speak to Madam President about the real Mr. Graves, that sort of thing."

It's a lie and he can see that Queenie knows it. She smirks when he registers the brush of her Legilimency over his surface thoughts before she turns and goes into the other room. He restrains a massive eye-roll but only just. _That's not playing fair,_ he thinks hard at her and detects a muffled giggle from behind the door. _Witch._

Tina folds her arms over her chest and juts her chin, expression cross. "If you two are finished," she intones acidly. Newt winces internally. She glares for another moment before relaxing and crossing the room, face revealing a hesitant worry. "Be careful," she admonishes him softly. "You aren't Madam Picquery's favorite person right now, even if you did get us all out of a jam. She could still arrest you."

Newt swallows while forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I doubt she'll arrest me, Tina. My brother would be most put out, and she needs to remain diplomatic if she wishes to see Grindelwald extradited to England. Besides, I will be required to give a statement, and it looks better for me if I go on my own. You know this."

She nods. "I _do_ know. I just worry."

Newt can't help but smile. "So I've noticed. It _is_ rather your forte."

Tina sighs and rubs her elbows through her pajamas "It comes with being the oldest." A beat, then: "When are you leaving? For good, I mean? Not that I'm desperate to see you go. I just...I'm curious."

Newt ducks his head. "I've passage booked for 15 December," he mumbles. He speaks to his shoes, afraid of what emotion he'd see in her eyes. Relief? Or something far more devastating? "I had intended to seek other accommodations while out. I don't intend to press upon the goodness of you and your sister the entire duration of my stay."

"It's okay," Tina says quickly, and now he's helpless but to look at her. She appears tremulously hopeful, a small smile playing about her mouth, hidden dimples peeking out. "You can stay, it's really no problem. I'll feel better knowing you're here, actually. I want to, um. Well. I want to check on your injuries later, make sure they're healing well. If that's okay."

Newt thinks of the livid red marks tracing over his body and recalls the sense-memory of her hands rubbing ointment into his wounds. Goosebumps erupt on his scalp to sweep over his skin as he shivers delicately. "That would be fine," he murmurs a little breathlessly, causing her smile to intensify and become almost unbearably bright. He looks away quickly, lest he be blinded by her radiance, while heat infuses his face.

"Good," she says, and then her hands rise to slowly, slowly drift towards him. She touches his collar and Newt closes his eyes, breath catching. He feels her delicate fingers adjust something at his throat before withdrawing with a shaky sigh. "Your bow tie—it was crooked."

"Thank you, Tina," he croaks, and her eyes are preternaturally dark when he dares to look at her through the space between them. _She's of a height with me,_ he realizes suddenly, and warmth infuses his limbs, driving away the remaining goosebumps. His gaze lingers appreciatively on the arch of her eyebrow, the apple of her cheek and the sheen of her lips before he tears himself away, feeling suddenly awkward and too large for his body.

"I shall return," he says abruptly and sweeps out the door before she can voice a reply.

And now he's in the Manhattan crush, surrounded by crowds of people and marveling at how tall and modern the buildings are here. He pulls on his gloves less than a block from the apartment, in deference to the December chill, and allows himself to enjoy being a _tourist_ as he slowly navigates toward the Woolworth building, following the map in his head.

Newt notes the multitude of people: rich and poor, grand and fatigued, and wonders absently where Jacob's canning factory is located. Then he spots his destination looming white and austere before him, and he steadies himself before navigating the busy boulevard crouched before it.

He marches to the doorman, back straight and shoulders firm, and does hit utmost to project calm authority while requesting entrance.

* * *

Newt reemerges hours later, feeling as though he'd spent the day chasing erumpents, or perhaps caught in the choranaptyxic coil of an enlarged occamy for hours. He's _tired_ down to his bones, and not entirely sure what to think of the end-results of his meeting. He steps aside to stretch, relishing the pops in his neck and spine as he twists and flexes, before joining the evening flow of bodies on the sidewalk.

He allows his mind to wander as he walks, stretching his legs after the August but cramped confines of MACUSA. He's standing before the familiar brownstone in a blink, sneaking past the landlady like a common criminal before tapping gently on now-familiar double doors. Tina ushers him in and helps him out of his coat before sitting him before the fire with a cup of tea, generously augmented with a dollop of brandy.

"How'd it go?" she asks nervously after he's driven the chill from his fingers. Newt swallows his tea, bravely withholding a grimace, and casts about for the proper way to frame his response.

"Well enough, I suppose," he starts slowly. "I'm to face no prosecution for bringing my case to the city, so long as I leave at my scheduled time. I've received a commendation for 'special services to wizard-kind', and Madam President promised me certain favors in return for remaining quiet on the subject, which I agreed to willingly enough." He bravely drains his cup before continuing, finding no way to say it without blunting the edge. "I also spoke to her on your behalf."

Tina's eyes harden, and she sits down next to him. " _Newt._ Explain."

He runs his fingers over the rim of his cup, speaking to it instead of her. "MACUSA did itself a disservice by demoting you. You have good instincts, Tina, and that's the most important thing in magical law enforcement." He clears his throat, chances a look at her face, and pushes on. "They're going to reinstate you and expunge the incident from your record. They're also going to issue a formal apology. I _insisted_ upon that." His voice hardens momentarily before dipping back into its normal dulcet tones.

Tina goes stock-still beside him. Newt risks fleeting glances at her from the corner of his eye. When she makes no move to berate him or bodily remove him from her home, he forces his gaze onto her face, preparing to have to explain himself or defend his actions.

Tina's lips are pursed to contain a tremble, and her eyes are swimming with tears. Newt's heart leaps into his throat before crashing to his feet. A moment of fumbling produces a wrinkled but clean hankie, and he presses it into her hand while meeting her eyes. "There's to be none of that," he says in a tone that strives to be reassuring but falls to pleading. Tina blinks and firms her lip but makes no move to dry her eyes.

Newt doesn't allow himself a chance to _think_ , lest he hesitates and questions his own actions. Much like when he's out in the field, he falls back on instinct.

With care honed through years of working with dangerous creatures, Newt reclaims his kerchief. "Tina, please don't cry," he whispers while dabbing her face, his touch infinitely gentle. "It was a gesture intended in kindness." A tear swells and rolls down her blotchy cheek, and Newt, transfixed, unthinkingly sweeps it away with his thumb. She leans into the gesture as he redirects his hand to tuck her hair back soothingly.

Tina sighs while staring at him unabashedly, seeming to drink in his face. Newt allows his thoughts to wander into territory best left unchartered while they maintain intense eye contact. Her lips part and his eyes drop subconsciously to admire how soft and inviting they seem, how finely sculpted. From his periphery, he can appreciate the creamy skin of her neck and chest. Best of all, he can enjoy the full measure of her eyes, dark and liquid and unearthly, fixed unflinchingly on his.

 _Spanish eyes,_ he thinks, and then: _I wonder how they'd look in bed. I wonder how they'd look at me._ He imagines Tina, spread over his sheets and pressed against him, Stygian eyes darkened further by powerful, far more _primal_ emotions, and sighs shakily as warmth infuses his limbs.

A throat clears delicately behind them. They spring apart, Newt's hand falling away from her skin as if burned. Tina wrings her hands and clears her throat while trying to disappear into the couch cushions, as Newt grimaces and quickly puts up his wholly inadequate Occlumency shields. He can _feel_ Queenie curiously riffling through the dustbin of his thoughts, and he winces when she seizes upon his contemplations of a few moments earlier before working backward to his conversation with Picquery.

She releases him without warning, and the ensuing silence is deafening. Newt swallows nervously before chancing a look at her. Queenie smirks at him, looking far too smug for his tastes. He doesn't bother hiding his curiosity as her smirk unfurls into a smile. _Aren't you angry?_ he thinks, turning the thought into a spear and directing it at her. She shakes her head hard enough for her strawberry curls to fly. Then she raises a delicate finger and slants it across her lips in the universal gesture for shushing. Newt grins at her unabashedly. _Our secret, then._

They share a conspiratorial smile before Queenie turns to Tina and comforts her as only she can. Newt feels rather at a loose end until she asks him to set the table, which he does without complaint. Then it's time for supper, and cautious conversation, and if he and Tina smile a bit more than usual, or if her eyes are a bit _warmer_ when they touch upon his, well. He honestly can't say he minds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** There is adult content in the form of consensual petting between adults in this chapter. If this isn't your thing, you can skip ahead to chapter four without losing the plot.

* * *

 _ **December 10, 1926**_

"Teenie. Teenie! Criminy, Tina, _wake up!_ "

Tina grunts and swats at the hand shaking her, clutching the unraveling edge of a lovely dream featuring her favorite magizoologist and his strong, scarred hands, before coming awake all at once.

"Queenie!" she gasps and then glares at her alarm clock. " _Queenie._ Why are you waking me up? It's _not even midnight!_ "

Queenie flutters while shushing her. "It's Newt," she says helplessly, and now Tina can see the tension lining her sister's frame. "He's dreaming terrible things and projects _awfully_ and I can't block him out. Can't you go wake him up?"

Tina growls in her throat while tossing back her blankets. "I _can_ ," she bites out as she works her feet into her house shoes. "I just don't see why _I_ have to do it. Couldn't you go yourself?"

Queenie shakes her head and slips into her bed, suddenly timid. "Sorry, Teenie," she says meekly. "It's just...it's not _me_ he wants to see when he wakes up. Go to him, please. Make him some cocoa maybe. He's sweet on you, you know."

Tina scrubs tiredly at her face and ignores her sister's declaration. "You're all wet," she growls. "But I'm up now so I guess I'll go take care of this. Thanks a lot, Queenie."

She doesn't give Queenie a chance to respond, just tosses the pocket door open and steps through. Her irritation evaporates as soon as it closes behind her, however, and sudden concern spurs her into picking her careful way over to the couch.

Newt is moaning in the back of his throat, and it isn't a happy sound. Tina watches as he flinches into the cushion and utters a harsh bark of noise she thinks may be garbled words. Then he goes still for one, two, three seconds before shuddering deeply and crying out.

Tina reaches a hand toward him at the same instant Newt jerks himself awake, releasing a harsh gust of air while bolting upright. His forehead connects solidly with her outstretched hand and they both yelp—him in pain and her in surprise. Newt glowers and rubs his forehead ruefully before squinting at her. Tina covers her mouth as an inappropriate bout of giggles sweeps over her, unable to repress her sudden outburst of morbid humor.

"If you'd wanted to wake me, there are better ways to go about it than _punching me in the head,_ " he growls, causing Tina to bend double with renewed gusts of laughter. Newt grunts when she collapses bonelessly onto his legs and twitches irritably while she begins the long, slow process of calming down.

"I'm sorry," she finally gasps, wiping her eyes as the last of her laughter gallops away. Newt sits up to survey her properly. He casually reaches out to brush her tears of mirth away with this thumb, causing Tina's breath to catch in her throat. He dries his fingers on his pajamas while staring at her in the dark, carefully and with no small amount of confusion. Tina smiles, but it feels wobbly on her face until she allows it to slip away.

"You were dreaming," she explains weakly, and he nods, jaw tight. "It woke Queenie up, and she came to get me. She wanted me to make sure you were okay, and I was reaching out to shake you when you sat up and, well..." She gestures vaguely between them while Newt blinks slowly. He swallows, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks to her mother's afghan.

"So sorry, Tina," he whispers. One nervous finger winds around a loose thread in the blanket. Tina reaches out to catch his hand without thinking. She doesn't move it away when he goes still, and he looks at it through wide eyes before continuing. "I've been dreaming the past two nights. I didn't realize that your sister was subject to them. I will seek other accommodations in the morning. I've no wish to be a burden."

Tina squeezes his fingers. "We don't want you to leave," she reassures gently. Newt looks up to tentatively meet her eyes. She squeezes him again, a little stronger. "Please stay. We enjoy having you here, truly." Tina manages a small smile, and Newt releases a slow breath while relaxing against the arm of the couch.

"Well. If you insist," he concedes. Tina allows her slight smile to turn into a grin.

"I do."

Newt turns his hand so their palms pressed together and wrap slender fingers around her wrist. He squeezes gently when Tina reciprocates the gesture, then searches her face before carefully scissoring open his legs. "Here," he says, and Tina rearranges herself until she's seated between his knees. It's a calculated risk—the gesture is improper and indecent and absolutely _perfect,_ especially when he tugs the blanket from beneath her and drapes it over them both. She can feel the bend of his knee and the coiled strength of his thighs pressed against her back and hips. Tina sighs contently and leans into him.

"We shouldn't sit like this," Newt murmurs, eyes never leaving her face. "It's highly inappropriate."

Tina shrugs, genuinely unconcerned. "You _being_ here is inappropriate. The way we...the way we _look_ at each other is inappropriate. I'm not worried about it. Are you?"

Newt swallows and drops his eyes to the blanket. "No," he says hoarsely. Then his eyes widen when her words sink in, and Tina bites her lip when he forces himself to look at her. "You said, 'the way we look at each other'. Er, you—you noticed that?" He winces at his clumsy word choice and hurries on. "I'm sorry, I mean—I never meant to be improper. Only that you're very...lovely. _Beautiful,_ really, and I can't seem to—that is, my eyes, um." He stalls and makes a helpless go-on gesture with his hand, ears flushing pink. Tina allows him to flounder only a moment before casting a line.

" _Newt._ It's either obscenely late or absurdly early, depending on your perspective. We are together on a couch, beneath a blanket, unchaperoned. I've seen the way you look at me, and I _know_ you notice the way I look at you. It's dark, it's early, and we won't talk about it in the morning." She shrugs, trying desperately to project an air of confidence, but the slight tremor in her voice betrays her. "Neither of us will act on it."

Newt freezes, hand tightening on hers until her fingers creak in warning. Tina holds her breath when Newt starts before blinking hard and seeming to realize that he's causing her pain. "So sorry," he breathes—then he lifts her hand to his mouth and she can _feel_ his words when his lips brush her knuckles.

Goosebumps race up Tina's arm at the contact, and she sees the answering shiver that works through Newt. His gaze doesn't waver when he repeats the gesture, a bold amplification of seconds earlier. Then he rotates her hand to pepper her palm, her wrist, and the soft skin of her forearm.

"Tell me to stop," he manages between kisses, and the bass note of his voice goes straight through her. She shakes her head in the negative, hair flying. He _purrs_ happily as he kisses his way to her elbow, pushing the sleeve of her pajamas out of the way. Newt leans forward to kiss her shoulder, making an impatient sound when his reach proves far too short. Tina rolls onto her knees to straddle his thigh, causing Newt to make a liquid sound when she settles onto him. His mouth bypasses her upper arm and shoulder to hone in unerringly on her throat and thinking suddenly becomes very, very difficult.

"We shouldn't do this," he reminds her, but his mouth works in direct contrast to his words, kissing and sucking up the column of her neck before latching onto the hinge of her jaw. His tongue flicks out to taste her and she gasps loudly, unwilling and unable to smother the sound. He hums encouragingly while skimming his teeth over her skin to her ear. He suckles the soft skin at her hairline, causing Tina to jerk against him.

"Newton Scamander, don't you _dare_ stop," she gasps raggedly as she fists the blanket. He huffs out a short, disbelieving huff of laughter before dragging a line of kisses across her cheek. He stops just short of her mouth, however, hovering uncertainly as Tina's eyes drift closed. His voice trembles when he speaks, pitched almost too low for her to hear.

"May I kiss you, Tina?"

A tingle spreads through her as he breathes into her skin. She's smiling slightly when she turns her head, allowing him to capture her lips in a kiss that is _anything_ but awkward. His mouth _claims_ hers, lips and tongue working in harmony to thoroughly unhinge her knees. Newt works her with confidence and no small amount of possession until she moans happily. He inhales the sound, warming it in himself before returning it to her as a heated gasp.

Newt's fingers tangle in her hair, and he breaks the kiss to trail a wet line down her neck. "So lovely," he breathes in awe as he flicks his tongue over her voice box. Her answering moan causes him to clamp his lips against her and _suckle_. Tina keens as a flash of heat pulses through her center, causing Newt to utter a muffled grunt and tear his mouth away from her.

"We shouldn't do this," Newt repeats shakily, fingers releasing her hair to smooth over her scalp. He kisses her cheek chastely, and Tina groans while tipping their foreheads together. She finds and holds his gaze as she grinds onto his thigh. He gasps brokenly, fingers tightening around her waist. Tendrils of lazy warmth work through her when his teeth find her skin and nip, just this side of too hard while making a helpless sound.

"I want to do this," she promises and leans close to find the lobe of his ear. She suckles it and he groans, head tossed back as his fingers tighten, tighten, _tighten_. Tina moves her mouth to his neck, hearing and feeling his gasps and pants as she works him over. She grinds into his thigh rhythmically and his hips twitch against her. _Like that, do you?_ she thinks, and she's thankful for the dark because it hides her triumphant grin.

Newt gasps her name and brings his hands up to cradle her head, kissing her hard enough to bruise. Tina melts into it while her center pulsates with familiar heat, his tongue plundering her mouth while Tina winds her hands into his pajama top. She grinds against his firm thigh, seeking connection while her fingers slide beneath his shirt to brush his skin.

Newt relinquishes her with a groan, returning his mouth to the enticing patch of skin on her chest as his hand moves to the line of buttons on her pajamas. "These need to come _off_ ," he growls artlessly. Tina chokes out agreement as her hips roll autonomously against his leg, desperate for friction.

His trembling fingers are amazingly sure and in no time at all he's peeling the one piece garment off, exposing her torso before allowing it to pool around her hips and thighs. His hands cup her breasts, nipples going instantly hard when he sucks one into his torrid mouth, tongue swirling around the peak. Tina knots her fingers into his hair as she arches against him, her mouth falling open to breathe her pleasure.

Newt's answering groan and the tremble that rocks him causes her to smile blissfully. His hand ghosts over her chest and quivering stomach before trailing further down, where she halts the sway of her hips long enough to allow him to tug her pajamas off. They're left forgotten on the floor as he brushes through the thatch of hair guarding her mound before tracing her swollen quim. Tina moans while pushing eagerly into the contact.

"So _wet_ already," he purrs, sounding immensely satisfied with her state. Her head falls back with a choked cry when Newt sucks her collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. He slides a finger through her wet folds before rotating his hand and encouraging her to lean into it. "On my fingers, now," he growls, and she moans as she starts to move.

Tina hears the click when he swallows, and his other hand rises to his chest. She watches through hazy eyes as Newt opens his top and mottled skin that has featured in over-heated dreams stretches before her, a moonlit expanse of freckles, scars, and stories unshared. Deep tremors take her core as she touches him with her hands and mouth until her head falls forward when his fingers begin to work in delicious counterpoint to her grinding.

She moans as her focus spirals and contracts inward, roaming hands falling still as she teeters on the cusp, desperate for that final push. A warm mouth slants over her ear, a cherished voice breathes, "I've got you, Tina," and suddenly she's _there_ , spilling over the edge hard enough to shake herself off him entirely as she implodes, crying out with the force of her release.

Newt catches her when she collapses and pulls her close to tuck her into his lap while she recovers. Her vision pulsates in time with her heartbeat but there's enough ambient light to see his face, clearly overjoyed at having satisfied her. He notices her watching him and smiles bashfully before gifting her with a gentle kiss. Tina closes her eyes and melts into it, accepting it for the benediction it is until he sighs and pulls away.

"That was alright, then?" Newt asks, sounding apprehensive. Tina grins, showing her teeth and the dimple hidden in her left cheek, and cards gentle fingers through his hair.

"It was _perfect_ ," she reassures, and he beams at her. Tina shifts slightly, only to notice his arousal pressing insistently against her. Newt ducks his head as a blush colors his cheeks. He kisses her before adjusting their stance so she's no longer pressed against him.

"Ignore it," he says diffidently. "It will go away on its own." He sounds relieved when she moves away, more in control of himself, and Tina is very tired—so she does as he insists, gently brushing her open palms down his chest before buttoning his top. He catches her fingers with gentle lips before admonishing her to stand and retrieving her pajamas. Newt helps her clean up and dress before laying flat on the couch, arms open in invitation.

"Will you join me, Tina?" he asks tenderly. She wastes no time, draping herself next to him with a happy sound. The couch is narrow, forcing them to lay pressed together from shoulder to thigh. He rolls onto his side and wraps an arm around her, and she can feel the weight of his gaze as he worshipfully traces her profile. Newt moves to cover them with the blanket and she can smell her essence lingering on his hands, not unpleasant.

"You're very beautiful," he breathes while pressing a series of small kisses along her temple. Newt runs his fingers through her hair before dragging his hand over her neck to trace senseless patterns into the blue flannel covering her shoulder. He yawns widely enough to crack his jaw and Tina closes her eyes as his arm settles around her. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he whispers.

Tina's fingers trace the spur of bone at his wrist before finding his scar-flecked forearm and drawing lines between each one, creating constellations against the map of his skin. She traces his sinewy muscles and hums when he sighs, fluttering her eyes open long enough to watch his drift closed.

She falls asleep to the soothing sound of his heart beating in her ear, a small smile playing about her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Warming:**_ more adult content in this chapter, of the full-blown-sex variety this time. Again, if this is not your thing, you can read down to the third line break and skip the rest without losing any real plot.

* * *

 _ **December 11, 1926**_

Newt is awakened by a musical burst of feminine laughter. It takes him a disorienting moment to realize that it doesn't come from his bedmate—couch-mate?—but rather from the other side of the room.

He cracks open one eye, wincing when it's speared by weak sunlight, and takes a cautious look around. Queenie stands by the bedroom doors, wand held loosely between her fingers and gaze mock-stern as she takes them in.

"Well, it looks like _somebody_ had a good night!" She exclaims. Newt feels heat flood his face.

"Um—er—" he says eloquently, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Queenie slaps her hands over her mouth and giggles madly, doing an odd, happy little bounce where she stands. "Oh, Mr. Scamander," she gushes. "You've no idea how happy Teenie will be! She's been mooning over you for days. She may have even had a daydream or two." She winks saucily, and his mind goes back to how they'd defiled the couch last night.

Newt shakes his head briskly to drive _that_ image away before turning to observe Tina. She's still deeply asleep, lips parted in gentle snores. He very slowly extricates his numb right arm from beneath her, careful not to disturb her rest, and discreetly checks to make sure his pajamas are fastened before sliding out from under the covers.

He winces at the pins and needles in his limb as he rubs feeling back into it, his mind inevitably returning to their pleasant activities of the previous evening. He watches Tina sleep, smiling slightly as her face flashes through his mind: blissed-out and satisfied, focused and hungry, delicate hands rubbing against his—

 _"Yech!"_ Queenie groans, closing her eyes. "It's bad enough you two forgot your privacy charms, I _do not_ need to see my sister in that state!" She winces prettily while rubbing her temples. Newt hastily pushes all thoughts of Tina to the back of his mind.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles to her feet. "Next time, we'll make sure to use the proper precautions. Um, assuming there is a...next time." He finishes with a wheeze, aware of just how _forward_ it sounds, but Queenie smiles gently and lets him off the hook.

His arm has regained feeling so he drops his hand and squints out the window before glancing at the clock. "It's quite early, Miss Goldstein. What are you doing awake?"

"Call me Queenie," she says with a fragrant wave, and Newt inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Tina's alarm woke me up, actually," she explains while floating into the kitchen. "She's going back to work today so I got up early to make breakfast. She wasn't in her bed and I wondered where she was, but I wasn't expecting to find you two wrapped around each other."

She flashes a teasing smile but grows serious as she sets about preparing eggs and toast. "You two could be good together, Mr. Scamander. I know how you think about her. Promise me you'll do your best to make her happy."

Newt discovered early on that looking at Queenie wasn't nearly as difficult as looking at other people. Possibly because he has no interest in her outside of their strange, tentative friendship, or maybe because she reminds him so strongly of Jacob—someone else he'd rarely averted his eyes around. Either way, he finds himself most comfortable with watching her cheek and jaw as he fumbles around his own mind, trying to find the easiest way to voice his thoughts.

"I'll do my best," he finally settles on, knowing how weak and insufficient the words sound. Queenie can see the truth of the statement in his heart, however, and she beams.

"That's all I ask," she chirps as she turns back to the stove. "I can't have my Jacob but Tina...well, as long as she gets her Newt, I guess I'm happy."

 _Jacob. Jacob!_

A nebulous, half-formed idea solidifies and lands with an almost audible _thump_ in the fore of his mind, causing his companion to stiffen and whirl to face him. Queenie appears to be struggling against a radiant smile, unwilling to give into hope just yet but unable to refrain entirely.

Newt struggles valiantly to untangle the threads of his thoughts and push them _forward,_ allowing her to view them. She gives in, a smile as bright and golden as sunshine spreading across her face.

"Mr. Scamander," she breathes. "He'd be able to get his bakery. Oh, it would make him so happy!"

She crosses the room and enfolds him in a floral embrace, as light as air against him. Newt gives her a token pat on the back and she beams at him when she turns away to skip back to the stove. He watches her bemusedly, warmth infusing his chest at her obvious joy, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be an older brother.

"I'd imagine so," she chirps, and he rolls his eyes gently. "You should go wake Tina up," she goes on, cracking eggs into a skillet. "I think she'd rather see you first thing. Be sure and give her a sound one, smack on the kisser!"

Newt chooses not to dignify that with a response, ambling instead into the living room. Nervously, he ensures his bedclothes are smooth and runs a distracted hand through his hair in a useless attempt at taming it. He perches gingerly on the edge of the couch to take her hand, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb over her smooth skin. "Tina," he croons. "Tina, love, it's time to get up."

Tina makes a soft sound in her sleep and shifts, her hand tightening around his. Newt squeezes where they are connected before brushing a knuckle over her cheek. "Come on, Tina." He finds he can't use his normal tone of voice, instead gentling it to something he'd use with a sick or injured creature. "Wake up. You return to work today."

Tina comes awake all at once, eyes blinking open and honing on him with startling focus. "Newt?" she asks, squinting in confusion before sitting up and looking around. She glances at the clock, at him, and down at herself before returning her eyes to him. "Um, last night...that wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No, it wasn't!" Queenie calls breezily from the kitchen. Newt tosses her an annoyed glare over his shoulder. _Bugger out of the conversation,_ he thinks at her, only half-joking. She snorts laughter into the toast she's buttering.

"It was not," he says much more calmly while turning back to Tina. She swallows and looks at his fingers, which are holding hers warmly, before covering the hand pressed to her cheek with her own.

 _"Good,"_ she says emphatically, and leans forward to kiss him.

It's slower and softer than many of the kisses shared the previous evening, but no less passionate. He sighs when they eventually part, before leaning in to place a line of small nibbles along her cheek. "My, you are good at that," she breathes into his ear, and he feels the shiver that runs through her. Tina wraps her arms around his waist to tug him closer, and he melts into the embrace while inhaling the clean scent of her hair.

"That's enough of that," Queenie says eventually, sounding apologetic. "Tina, you've got work and just barely enough time to get ready. Mr. Scamander, I need your help with a few things today, if you don't mind. It's time to close the bank, you two."

Thoroughly chastised—though in the nicest way possible—Newt untangles himself from Tina and helps her up. She brushes her mouth over his cheek fleetingly before wandering toward the kitchen and sitting down to Queenie's sumptuous breakfast. She makes an irritated sound while glancing at the clock before bolting eggs and toast and washing it down with strong, black coffee.

Newt and Queenie eat at a more leisurely pace and wait until Tina's safely ensconced in the bathroom before turning to each other.

"This morning," Newt says urgently, and Queenie nods.

"We'll go and feel things out, see what's what. Tina and I have work tomorrow, so you can do it then, or you can drop it off tonight. We'll see after we snoop a bit!" She speaks rapidly out of the corner of her mouth and pastes on a smile when Tina returns to the apartment.

"No hot water," Tina growls as she slams the door behind her. "I don't know why that keeps happening, but I had to take a whores bath in the sink. I'm going to feel filthy all day." Newt focuses very hard on the fork in his hand while doing his utmost _not_ to think about the activities that had led to her feeling so dirty. He suspects he does a bad job of it if the blush infusing Queenie's face is any indication.

 _Sorry,_ he thinks, and she waves a weak hand.

"Well, I have to go," Tina says after sending a hard look his way. Newt scrambles to his feet, very nearly slipping in his haste, and walks her to the door.

"When will you be home?" he asks while helping her into her jacket.

"I'm not sure," she replies, looking nervous. "It depends on a lot of things, but I'll try to be home early. I'd like to spend some time with you tonight. Talking and...other things..." She trails off and chews her lip. Newt leans forward to displace her teeth, nibbling her lip gently before kissing her soundly.

"Talking and 'other things' sounds wonderful to me," he reassures in a whisper as a slow smile spreads across his face. "Now, off you go. Mustn't be late on your first day back. Do try and stay out of trouble, Tina. I only have so many favors to call upon."

Tina laughs and kisses his forehead before hurrying down the steps. He hovers until he hears the front door close behind her; then he sighs and closes his eyes, leaning against the wood while trying to reign in the whirl of his thoughts.

"You got a lot goin' on up there, Mr. Scamander," Queenie says dryly. "Don't worry, she's just as happy and confused as you are. You two are made for each other."

She hums thoughtfully, and Newt hears the sounds of her getting dressed. He carefully keeps his eyes averted until she's finished.

"Now c'mon, let's go track down my Jacob."

Newt strides toward his case. "Allow me to feed my creatures. You can help, if you'd like. It'll go much faster that way. And please, call me Newt."

"Newt," she chirps, following him. "I can do that. Let's get these beasts fed so we can hit the road!"

* * *

Finding Jacob's factory is easier than either of them anticipate. They loiter outside the gates in hopes of catching a glimpse of him until a foreman drives them away.

"He's lucky I didn't hex his soup bone off!" Queenie seethes as she strides ahead, and Newt makes a careful mental note to never end up on the working end of her wand. She throws him a half-amused, half-frustrated look until he ventures a timid smile.

"It isn't entirely bad," he gentles. "We now know what shift Jacob works, and what time he will be relieved. I will come back later and drop the case. You won't be able to see him, but I'll let you take it from my mind if you'd like. If it wouldn't be a bother, I could use some help gathering the Occamy shells. Perhaps you'd accompany me when we return to the flat?"

"Apartment," she corrects airily and drops a teasing wink. It's enough to restore her good mood, however, and Newt flushes with relief before allowing her to lead him to a local café.

She treats him to a serviceable scone and over-steeped tea, and Newt carefully hands over the last of his American currency. "I've no use for this," he explains awkwardly, "and I won't be an undue burden on either of you. Please take it, with my thanks."

Queenie tucks the money into her coin purse without a word, still smiling softly at him. "You really are a good man, Newt Scamander," she tells him softly, and he isn't sure what to say to that so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he drinks his tea and tracks the flow of people around the establishment, absently chewing his scone before allowing her to lead him back to the brownstone.

* * *

Newt uses a _Gemino_ spell to replicate his case, including the bad clasp. Queenie helps him fill it with silver occamy shells until the sides of the case groan, and Newt is forced to employ a few minor charms to help him heft it.

Returning to the factory is a calculated risk, but one he's willing to take. It breaks his heart a little to leave Queenie behind, but he meant what he said: he would record it all with his well-ordered mind and let her drink it from him later. He reflects fondly on how novel and bizarre it is, to be welcomed by not one woman but _two_ , before Disapparating to the factory and disillusioning himself until the change-of-shift horn sounds.

In the end, it goes off better than he could have hoped. He times it well and stays out of sight until he's within feet of Jacob. Then he bumps into him in a calculated move and, quick as a flash, swaps the cases.

"So sorry—sorry!" He infuses his voice with as much of his so-called 'accent' as he's able to muster, hoping that it may jog some stray memory of Jacob's, before moving swiftly and purposefully through the crowd.

Newt ducks into a convenient alley and watches Jake struggle onward with his new, heavier load. _It's all in Merlin's hands now,_ he thinks, but he can't suppress the grin that spreads across his face.

Newt shares the memory with Queenie, as promised, and she drinks it from his head slowly, relishing it like fine wine. He's careful to relegate his thoughts and feelings about Tina to the _back_ of his head while she pokes around, and she sighs wetly when she finally releases him.

"He'll be fine now," she decides, and Newt debates sharing a theory with her. In the end, he can't stand to see her suffer, so he worries his hands and wonders how to broach the subject.

She feeds him soup heavy with vegetables, and Newt waits until the bowls are pushed away before giving her his full attention. "There may be a way for him to remember," he begins slowly. "The Swooping Evil venom—in my trials, it only worked on _bad_ memories. Positive memories were sometimes tarnished, but they usually remained almost entirely intact."

He watches the hope dawning across her features and clears his throat roughly. "Jacob may yet be able to remember you, and us, if his memory were to be properly jogged. Say, by seeing an individual for whom he has a certain...affection."

Queenie crows with delight before flicking her wand to clean up their supper. "Oh, Newt!" she enthuses, hands clasped between her breasts. "That would be swell! Oh, I'll have to go visit his bakery for sure now!"

He nods, glad she understands his meaning, before allowing her to shoo him from the kitchen. He climbs into his case to tend to the creatures, spending extra time with the depressed erumpent and stroking the occamies, chasing the niffler and delousing the demiguise before returning to the apartment to nurse a glass of Dragon's Fire whiskey.

"You're sleeping in the bedroom tonight. I'll take the couch," Queenie murmurs after a time, and he raises his glass in a toast of thanks.

"Pour me one'a those, would ya?" She asks, so he does, and they sit and sip their drinks in companionable silence, Queenie working on a new and lovely dove gray dress while he flips through one of Tina's charms books. Eventually, the clock chimes nine and she glares at it while making an unhappy sound.

"I'm sorry, Newt," Queenie sighs. "I have to go in early tomorrow for some stupid meeting. I'm going to have to ask you to go into the bedroom so I can get my beauty sleep."

Newt shrugs and drains his glass before sending it to the sink. He fetches his bag and sneaks to the bathroom to perform his evening toilet while Queenie dresses the couch. When he returns, she's already in her nightclothes and the couch is prettily made with linens.

"You can lay down in Teenie's bed," she says with a giggle. "Whatever you do, don't _do_ anything in mine. I don't need to be thinking about it."

Newt swallows as he feels the tip of his ears heat up. "We'll be careful, Queenie," he promises, and she grows serious.

"I know you will, honey," she says, giving him a gentle, one-armed hug. "You treat my sister right tonight, okay? Don't go giving her any trouble." She drops a soft kiss on his cheek before floating away. He watches until she's out of the room and the door is closed firmly behind her.

"Trouble. Right," Newt muses while tucking himself into Tina's bed. He searches her selection of books until he finds a likely candidate, and turns to the index in search of a very specific spell. Then he settles down to read, one part of his brain on high alert for any sign of his woman.

* * *

Newt's drowsy and nearly asleep when Tina materializes before him, looking slightly wild and very worried.

"I am _so sorry,_ " she bursts out in a whisper, reaching up to yank off her cloche hat. "We found Mr. Graves, and it was a mess while we got all that sorted out. I had to stay and help because we didn't have enough security."

Newt comes awake in an instant. "They found Graves? Is he well?"

Tina sighs and shrugs out of her jacket before pulling her blouse from her trousers. "No," she says finally, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "I don't know what Grindelwald did to him but it wasn't pretty. He just babbled when we tried to talk to him. He was badly injured and delirious with pain."

She grimaces delicately and bends to pull off her brogues. Then she leans close to brush her mouth against his. "I'm beat. Gimme a few to clean up, then I'll come to bed."

He nods and watches her steal out of the room. Newt returns her book to its rightful spot and smooths the sheets while he waits, mind drifting along without any conscious oversight, diligently researched spell forgotten.

Tina returns after a short while and he can smell her soap. She hesitates for only a moment before pulling off her blouse and trousers, looking at him carefully, almost shyly as she stands in her foundation garments. "Um. Do you still want to do...that?"

Newt nods while giving her his softest smile. "Of course, Tina. If you're still willing, that is."

She swallows before loosening and peeling off her girdle and stockings and dropping her step-ins, reaching for her pajamas until Newt clears his throat gently. She glances at him and he shakes his head once, quickly. Tina narrows her eyes at her bed clothes before returning them to the wardrobe. Then she's crossing the room, moonstone skin glowing in the low light that shades her curves and angles, and Newt's throat goes dry.

Newt pulls her into his arms with a sigh to bury his face in her slightly rounded, sexy little belly, while Tina finds and pets the nape of his neck. Moving to his knees, he kisses a slow trail over her sternum. His hand molds to the curve of her breast, her nipple going instantly hard against his palm. He tweaks it while making a pleased sound in the back of his throat, causing her to sigh.

Newt drags his mouth further downward, covering her chest and stomach with kisses before dipping his tongue into the hollow of her navel. Crouching, he licks a broad strip over the top of her mound while Tina hisses and rakes her nails across his scalp.

Newt unfurls and stretches his neck to reclaim her mouth until she whimpers and he can feel the tremble in her thighs. He breaks away to pepper her face and jaw and chest with small, scratchy kisses. Sucking a dusty pink nipple into his mouth inspires her to keen and dig her fingernails into his shoulders.

Newt pays careful attention to her breathing as he worships her breasts, first one then the other. Her nipples are bright red and ravished when her breathing starts to hitch, so he crouches and nips at the crease of her thigh instead. "Tina," he asks, infusing his tone with sensuality. "Can I taste you?"

Tina voices a liquid moan and Newt shivers when the blood flow in his body suddenly redirects southward. Heat coils in his groin, hard and insistent, and he kisses her deeply enough to bruise before gentling it.

"Lie down," he whispers, supporting her as she props herself on the pillow. He covers her with himself, fully clothed against her nakedness, and groans at the heady feel of her lethal curves through his pajamas.

Tina grasps his top, her fingers sliding against his buttons without fanfare. He shrugs it off and she claims the skin on his chest, shoulders and back for her own. He presses his face into her hair as she tastes him experimentally until an eager tongue finds his flat nipple and his groan reverberates through them both. She does it again, until he trembles as lightning flares through him.

"Yours are sensitive, too," she muses, and her skin absorbs his chuckle. She presses her face into his textured neck and he gasps when she kisses and sucks the skin there, leaving faint love-bites behind. "Um, Newt? Before you...you know, will you let me..." She trails off to look purposefully downward, and he can't hide the small smile tugging on his lips.

"Of course, Tina," he breathes, and her hands find the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "Go ahead," he encourages softly when she hesitates.

His Tina draws a deep breath and yanks them down, eyes never leaving his face. Newt shimmies his hips to assist before leaning over and kicking them off. Then she's watching him, and he isn't sure if it's nerves or anticipation that stilts her hands and eyes.

"It's all right," he murmurs, pitching his voice low. "You don't have to do _anything_ you don't want to, Tina. We can stop if you want."

She stares for another moment before shaking her head, sucking in a deep breath and pushing him gently away. Tina guides him into a crouch while she kneels before him, eyes slowly trailing down his body until they stop just below his navel. She closes her eyes briefly before dropping them, landing on the secret part of him with a gasp and a sigh.

Newt looks at himself critically, trying to see things from her perspective. It's an impressive enough sight, he supposes. He's not excessively large and he isn't disappointingly small. If he had to compare it to anything, it would be his hands: elegantly built, obviously capable and with a smattering of freckles throughout.

He watches as if in a dream when she raises a hand and boldly meets his gaze. Then she wraps her long, cool fingers around him, and he's forced to squeeze his eyes shut.

She strokes him experimentally and his head falls forward of its own accord, a long, ragged sigh escaping him. She does it again and a molten pulse works through him, originating in his core and radiating outward as she settles into a rhythm. He allows her explorations for only a few moments before fumbling to cover her hand with his own. "No more of that," he admonishes gently, "Or this will be over before it's properly begun."

Tina blinds him with her smile and lets him go. She arranges herself across the pillows to part her legs invitingly, tugging him over her by the wrists. Breathless and dazzled by her sultry gaze, he drops to lie between her thighs, hands hooking into the bend of her knee while he takes her in from below.

She is delicate down here, and Newt has to remind himself to breathe as he examines her lovingly. Three experimental fingers cover her entirely, and Newt presses his forehead into her leg while squeezing his eyes shut to control the primal urges that surge through him.

 _Easy, easy,_ he rebukes himself. He drags his eyes back to her center and takes in her swollen outer lips, plump and glistening, enticing him to touch and taste. Newt uses the tips of his fingers to part her and reveals the folds hidden within, pearly with fluid. Above them, swollen with arousal, the bud of her clit implores a roving finger or the exploratory sweep of his tongue.

Newt groans and bites his lip. He _wants_ to bury his face in her quim and lick and ravage until she begs for him to stop. He longs to suckle her clit until she bucks and keens his name in a bid for release. Instead, he spreads her wider to explore the flower hidden within, the silky petals and narrow maw meant to accommodate something _more_ than his tongue or finger.

She moans, and something darkly erotic curls around the base of his spine. He dips his mouth to her abruptly and draws his tongue over her, starting at the base of her slit and ending atop her tight bud. Beneath him, Tina trembles and moans and does not ask him to stop.

Her flavor is heady, salty and sweet and entirely _Tina._ He intensifies his explorations while her thighs come to moar on his shoulders, heels digging into his back as she moves against him. He welcomes the pressure of her strong legs because it keeps him grounded in the moment. He stiffens his tongue and jabs it into her, sampling the nectar within as she grinds unashamedly against his face.

Newt switches up his technique, curling his tongue around the nub of her clit until a primal roll takes her hips. He uses the press of his arms to contain and ride out her bucking, jaw loose as he moves with her before wrapping his lips around her bud and sucking while burying two fingers in her heat.

He can feel her drawing tight around him, so he flicks his tongue against her in quick, delicate strokes until she keens and shudders, yanking his hair. He presses harder, thrusts faster, and she pulses around his fingers and sobs his name when she comes.

Newt rides her out patiently, waiting for the tell-tale quivering to fade before resuming his slow laps. Warm, slightly sweet fluid trickles from deeper within and he licks it up with a happy groan, sampling the evidence of her release. He persists until she yanks his hair impatiently, thighs trembling against his cheeks.

"Newt," Tina gasps, voice thick. "Please."

He nips her inner thigh in parting before sitting up and making a show of sucking his fingers clean. She watches with avid eyes while his tongue flashes in the dark until she moans and clutches him with trembling legs. He voices a laugh, as rough as water through a throat of stones, and she makes another choked sound.

"What do you need, love?" he purrs, and she tugs his arms. He resists her pulls, determined to hear her say it.

"You," Tina finally breathes, frustration edging her words. "Newt. Newt, _please._ "

"What part of me?" he asks, teasing without shame. Newt allows her to pull him over her until her nipples cut into his chest and their thighs bump together. He waits for her to say it, patiently watching her face.

 _Say it, and I am yours,_ he thinks fleetingly.

Tina growls her frustration, thighs squeezing his shanks when Newt drops his head to suck her neck. "I need you inside me," she finally manages on an exhale, and it isn't really the words he seeks but it's enough. Newt hums and releases her skin, the dark urge curled around his spine simultaneously expanding and contracting in a species of triumph at the confession.

 _Tina. My Tina._

"Do you want me to make you come again?" he asks plainly, and the sensuality in her answering moan makes his skin tingle. He clenches his teeth while measuring his breath, his hands fisting the sheets.

"Yes," she gasps. Newt pulls her beneath him until her legs wrap loosely around his waist and they are lined up. He presses his lips to her ear and hums when her hand guides his way. Tina hisses when he nudges her, a warmth of a different sort engulfing him as he presses his advantage, splaying open her outer petals to sink into the jungle heat hidden at the core of her being.

He moans when their centers meet and grinds to a halt, hips trembling with restrained potential. Tina wraps around him and crosses her legs over his back when her hands find a temporary home on his shoulders, her eyes heavy with lust.

 _Just like quicksand,_ he thinks dazedly as her heat seeps into his skin.

Tina rolls her hips beneath him, causing electricity to trickle down his spine. She runs her fingertips down his scarred back before sinking her fingernails in, leaving livid red marks. They moan in unison as pleasure/pain skitters across his nerves until Newt masters himself enough to _move,_ withdrawing almost entirely before pushing back in. Tina's mouth falls open as she exhales her pleasure.

Newt rocks them together, hands flitting between her hair, her breast, her hip. Her nails rake over his skin, blunt teeth christening his chest and shoulders. She gives and he takes, groaning her name into her hair. He gives and she takes, holding him close and gasping his name in the dark. He surges into her deeply, drawing them both out, and her textured walls grip him _tightly_ when he shivers, on the brink and losing control.

"You need to come," he manages through clenched teeth, and Tina gasps loudly. He stretches his neck to nip her wrist before motioning with his chin. "Help yourself," he begs, and her fingers drift between them to circle her clit. Newt watches through slitted eyes, hissing through his teeth as she works herself over. He can feel her fingers brushing where he thrusts into her, and his head falls forward as he surrenders entirely to hedonism.

Fucking her is like burying himself in warm, quivering velvet and he does it over and over, powerless to stop, each shuddering thrust urging him closer to the primitive edge. He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels Tina coil around him, arching into her release while moaning his name, quim pulsing unmercifully. Her fingers stop their rubbing to tangle into his hair, spreading her musty essence around as Newt's mouth latches onto her neck, biting hard enough to leave a lavish bruise before soothing it with the flat of his tongue.

Tina presses her hands into the small of his back, urging him on as the knot at the base of his spine dissolves in a molten flux. She is still fluttering around him spasmodically when he surges into her, hard enough for the headboard to count the beats. Tina whispers his name reverently at his fervor, gentle hands holding him together when he jitters apart.

Newt growls when his climax sweeps him, bone-hard and sharp and _primal_. He buries his face in her neck, smelling soap, sweat and her, and shudders to a halt, completely overcome.

Tina's fingers brush the length of his spine as she murmurs sweetly in his ear. Newt settles over her as carefully as he can manage, taking his weight on unsteady elbows and knees to kiss her. She accepts this until his trembling becomes unbearable and he withdraws from her with a low sound, friction setting his teeth on edge. Fluid trails after him, a combination of her honeyed essence and his seed, which he cleans with a mindless flick of his fingers.

Newt kisses her before laying back and flinging a freckled forearm over his eyes, blotting out any extraneous stimulation. Tina rolls to trace his chest and stomach with curious fingers, trailing goosebumps until he can think clearly, his thoughts gradually falling into their usual pattern.

He catches her wrist and kisses her palm, insecurity stealing into his chest. "How was that?" he asks, nervous of the answer but unwilling to let it go. Tina hums thoughtfully and takes his hand to thread their fingers, curious mouth finding an enticing scar on his chest to taste. He slowly relaxes under the gentle press of her tongue.

"Perfect," she declares, and he chooses to believe her. "I...Newt, I've never known anything like that before."

Newt raises his arm and cracks an eye open to watch as she ducks her head and blushes. He smooths a hand over her sex-rumpled hair while his thoughts flow like honey, mellow and golden. It takes a while to come up with a suitable reply

"That wasn't entirely me," he finally settles on. "You helped yourself."

Tina shakes her head. "Not really," she insists. "You did it all. You made me feel _wanted._ " Her eyes skip away shyly while Newt reflects on this. He leans in to kiss her lazily, and she is smiling when he pulls away. "It was wonderful," she reassures, and her body is a warm and sated weight where she presses against him, eyes hazy in with afterglow.

"It was," he agrees. Her fingers draw lines between the freckles dotting his chest as Newt closes his eyes and allows his mind to drift serenely. "We should do that again," he mumbles, half asleep and not thinking, and Tina's laugh thrums through him and warms him from within.

"We should," she concurs, and he smiles and knows no more.


	5. Chapter 5

**_December 12, 1926_**

The first thing Tina notices upon waking is the pounding in her ear, slow and rhythmic. _Like a tribal drum,_ she thinks, and cracks open an eye to investigate.

She's greeted by an expanse of warm, slightly tacky skin, flecked with all manner of imperfections. Tina lifts her head with a smile to discover that her pillow is the chest of her bedmate, who is deeply asleep and breathing in slow draws. Newt's pulse flutters at his throat, and she very stoically ignores the urge to lean forward and taste it.

 _Save that for later,_ she tells herself, and a thrill works through her. Carefully extricating herself from her companion, she brings the alarm clock to her face, reading the time with a sigh, and turns off the alarm before gathering her items for the day.

Tina turns when she reaches the door before tiptoeing back to the bed to tuck the covers more tightly around him. Newt sighs and shifts before settling back into sleep. Tina brushes her lips across his forehead before beating a hasty retreat.

 _I could love him_ , she admits to herself as she performs her morning ablutions. The sun hasn't risen yet and so, in the dark, she can think thoughts best left hidden under the cover of darkness. _And I think he could love me too if things were different._

It's a bitter realization, the miles soon to come between them and how it forces their temporary closeness—so she pushes it aside while she brushes her teeth and uses the toilet. She flushes with a realizing jolt, taking up her wand and pointing it at her abdomen with her lip caught between her teeth in momentary indecision before firming her resolve.

The spell is powerful, designed specifically for female Aurors, and sinks in with a vibrating chill. She shivers as a flash of blue light works through the room before sighing and smothering a confusing pang of remorse.

 _Buck up, Goldstein. It's not you to get all dewy-eyed over a fella, especially not one who's leaving in two days. He's hitting on all sixes for now but you have no guarantee he won't forget you the moment he's on that boat. You're made of sterner stuff than this. Leave the mooning around to Queenie!_

Tina doesn't honestly believe he'll forget her—his hands and mouth _directly_ refute that construct—and thinking of Queenie makes her unbearably sad, so she pushes those thoughts aside once more and trundles around in neutral as she prepares her own small breakfast, allowing Queenie some extra sleep before she has to rise.

Then the sun is up and it's time to go, and she can find no more excuses to linger.

She checks on Queenie, finding her sister sprawled over the couch inelegantly and snoring, and huffs a laugh. Then she steals into the bedroom, expecting to find a sleeping magizoologist. Instead, she's greeted with bright blue eyes and a tentative smile. He sits up against the pillow and yawns expansively before patting the space beside him.

"Do you typically leave a bloke to wake up alone after a night of making love?"

His teasing is gentle, but Tina winces as she crosses the room. She sits and takes his hands in hers, feeling the sleepy warmth radiating off of him and wishing for nothing more than to crawl into bed with him, to burrow beneath the covers and while the day away. Instead, she pushes an errant curl off his forehead and smiles cautiously.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I have to head into work early to help with the Graves mess, and you looked comfortable. I was only just coming in to make sure that you were warm enough. We have more blankets if you need them."

Newt leans back to smile at her crookedly. It does something strange to Tina's stomach and chest, causing her to squirm in an attempt to hide her reaction. His eyes center on her while his smile widens and deepens until he's staring unabashedly. "I'm warm enough, I suppose." His smoky tone curls lazily around her as she shivers and clenches his hands harder.

"That's good," Tina stammers, and he drops his head to look at her from beneath his eyebrows.

"What time do you have to leave?" She can't be sure if he's teasing or genuinely interested in the answer, so Tina takes a fortifying breath before cutting her eyes to the alarm clock.

"Five minutes ago," she answers crisply, and he shoots the clock a dirty look. Tina laughs while leaning forward to steal a kiss. He hums into it, deepens it, and they're both slightly breathless when she finally pulls away. "Now it's eight minutes," she quips, and he laughs and releases her.

"May I bring you lunch?" Newt asks while she smoothes her clothes. Tina gapes at him, momentarily flummoxed. She tucks and straightens her blouse while she ponders, and finally decides to take a chance on cautious optimism.

"Yeah, sure. Um, sometime around noon should be good."

"Noon. That's settled, then. Shall I bring you a sandwich?"

"Yes, please. Go to Katz's deli, down on Sixth. They have the best Reuben in the city."

Newt nods and reaches out to touch the back of her hand with one finger, swirling a senseless pattern into her skin while gazing into her face. "Katz's Reuben," he intones softly, but Tina thinks, perhaps, they aren't actually talking about _food_ anymore.

She swallows down the lump in her throat. Then he relinquishes her hand and Tina flees, her face burning. She doesn't look back.

* * *

Noon winds up being closer to 1 o'clock, and Newt waits patiently with his grease-speckled paper sack as Tina ties up loose ends. They eat at her desk, spreading sandwiches and chips over the space while Tina catches him up on their investigation into Grindelwald and how he managed to get the drop on Graves.

"Mr. Graves is _strong,_ " Tina maintains while biting into a chip with relish. She crunches thoughtfully before continuing. "I guess I just don't see how it's possible."

"Grindelwald is a farce, but he is a capable duelist," Newt sniffs with an elegant curl of his lip, and Tina feels her eyebrows creep into her hairline. "Yet, he dares not return to England because he fears Dumbledore. He wants to be a revolutionary but all he succeeds at being is a _coward._ Wizards like him start wars but rarely finish them. People die, and it's all for naught." A shadow crosses his face.

Tina is deeply intrigued by the unexpected outburst but wisely decides not to pursue the topic. "What are your plans for today?" She asks instead. The subject change is far from subtle, but it wipes the sneer off Newt's face so she considers it a clumsy victory.

His plans are apparently a safe topic because he relaxes and sets aside his food. "I'm spending it in the case. The Fwooper needs its silencing charm refreshed, and a few of the habitats require maintenance before I set sail." His voice cracks and he clears his throat briskly before continuing. "I'll be down there well into the night. You're welcome to come join me this evening; I'd quite like your company."

The last bit is mumbled to his sandwich, and Tina smiles gently. "I'd like that," she confesses, and he chances a look at her. Then he brushes her hand with the tips of his fingers while glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I should go," he informs her regretfully while standing to pull on his blue coat. Tina steps around her desk to lace their fingers together.

Newt stares at where they are joined before meeting her eyes, his left hand rising to tenderly brush the hair away from her face. Then he leans in, slowly enough to give her an opportunity to deny him, and touches his mouth to hers. _"Tina,"_ he murmurs, low and slow, and his eyes smile at her.

"Later," she vows, untangling their fingers to clutch the lapel of his jacket and pull him close, breathing the words against his lips. She isn't entirely sure what she's promising him, only that it's the right thing. "Later, Newt."

He hums and deepens the kiss, making her palms sweat and her heart pound, and catches her bottom lip between his teeth before reluctantly stepping away.

Tina's lips tingle for the rest of the afternoon, and she finds herself touching them at the oddest moments, a secret smile playing around her mouth.

* * *

She's home earlier than she expected, and Queenie makes herself scarce while Tina strips off her jacket and hangs up her hat. The case sits beside the couch, lid open in implicit invitation. Tina feels the tingle of strong protective magic when she steps out of her sitting room and into another world.

Newt's shed is as crowded and cacophonous as she remembers, and the pungent aroma of herbs fills her nose. She breathes deeply, allowing the last threads of lingering tension to seep out of her, before crossing the threshold into Newt's secret heart.

She wanders through most of the habitats before finding him, dwarfed by the looming male Graphorn as he clucks soothingly and works on the beast's hoof. "There you are," Newt croons as he strokes the beast's shanks. The creature woofs and snorts at him. He releases the beast's leg soon after dabbing on a poultice, and the creature butts him with its tentacled head in thanks before loping away.

Newt meanders over to her while wiping his face and hands on a stained rag. "Hello," he murmurs in greeting, and it's the most natural thing in the world for her to lean over and kiss him. He accepts her kiss but doesn't deepen it, instead tipping his forehead against hers and breathing her in. "You _are_ good at that."

She smirks at him before stepping back to allow him to lead the way.

Tina's quickly realizes that Newt's idea of 'helping' is more akin to 'observing' as they go from habitat to habitat, shoring up spells and securing those things which shouldn't be handled with magic. He feeds and waters his creatures along the way, always stopping to pet, pat, grunt, snort or squeal at them as needed until they wind up in Frank's old enclosure.

Newt hoists himself onto the flat rock guarding the entrance of the habitat and pats the space beside him. "On you hop, Tina."

She climbs up and leans companionably into his side. He places his arm around her and they look up to watch the enchanted stars scattered like jewels above them, shrouded in comfortable silence as artificial darkness embraces them.

"You don't get to see too many stars, here in the city," she murmurs eventually.

"I couldn't imagine living so separate from nature," Newt sighs. He turns his head to look at her face and Tina's breath catches in her throat. His wide eyes are bathed in starlight, with the silvery sliver of the moon reflected in his pupils. Tina lifts a dazzled hand to touch his cheek and he sways closer to her, drawn in by her fascination.

They kiss beneath winking constellations—mouths moving together patiently, their embrace tender and slow as the strange, tentative affection between them swells and consumes until it is larger than them both.

Newt eventually stands to take her hand, and she willingly drowns in his gaze. "Please stay with me tonight," he chokes. "I would very much like to smell you on my pillow after I've gone."

 _That's the closest we can ever get to saying goodbye,_ she thinks and allows him to lead her to his shed.

Newt has a narrow cot tucked beneath the bench. He pulls it out and expands it to accommodate them both before casting privacy charms and noise dampening spells. Tina smiles her thanks when he sets his wand aside with trembling hands, stepping into her space to kiss her until they're both rendered breathless and intent, his eyes shining with emotions better left unspoken.

They undress each other slowly, carefully, marveling over buttons and cufflinks and lace ruffs, reveling in every inch of skin revealed. Newt tastes her from above and below, making her heart race; making her _want_ him. He pulls her into bed when they are both divested of their garments, where she climbs into his lap, his strong thighs curled beneath hers, arms on each other's shoulders. They don't lower the lights.

Tina sinks onto him with a ragged sigh, rocking her hips until they move together in short, syncopated harmony. His arms pull her close, his hands wandering over her neck and back and shoulders, humid mouth seraphic on her lips, her cheeks, her jaw. He breathes promises into the shadows of her skin and kisses her without reservation. Tina gasps his name brokenly until he swallows it with a sigh.

She skims along the crest until her limbs quiver with exhaustion. Newt supports her when he flips them, pressing her into his pillow while covering her body with his own. She places a hand over his heart, finding his eyes and holding them as he rolls against her, breathing together in perfect synchronicity. Tina trails her fingertips up his arms, digs her blunt nails into his shoulders and biceps as the tension builds, and her name takes the form of a shaky exhale when he is released.

She cradles him in the aftermath, his calloused fingers painting shapes into her skin. There's moisture staining his cheeks but then, hers are damp too. He kisses her tears away and murmurs her name—a benediction and a plea. Tina drinks in his eyes and commits his features to memory. She kisses his mouth but does not say his name. It isn't an absolution she feels equipped to give.

Newt tucks her hair behind her ear while pressing his lips to her forehead, before shifting to the side to curl around her. The blankets smell like him when she pulls them to her chin. Tina huddles into his skin until she can't tell where one ends and the other begins and buries her face in his neck to inhale deeply.

They sleep in cycles—sometimes talking, when the silence presses too close, always touching and teasing, constantly mapping and learning each other. Dawn finds them face-to-face, inspired once more to love. Newt presses their palms together and laces their fingers, gasping her name at the end. Tina carefully tucks the sound away in the keepsake of her heart.

Then sunlight seeps in from above, and they hide their true selves beneath the blanket to protect their comforting little universe for just a moment longer.


	6. Chapter 6

_**December 13, 1926**_

Newt realizes he is not an introspective man. Pragmatic, yes; compassionate, always, and harshly romantic when required. He knows he possesses an expansive heart and the determination to do the right thing, at any cost. More importantly, he knows he sustains the _will_ to see his endeavors through.

This seeming dichotomy at the core of his nature has never warranted much of his time or attention. Why should it, when there was so much of the world without yet to discover?

Tina Goldstein is a different sort of beast for him altogether, she and her magnificent eyes. He can admit to himself that's what he'd first noticed about her: her eyes, large and dark and _unflinching_ when considering him.

Her mouth came next, and wondering distantly how it would feel against his own. A dawning awareness of the rest of her soon followed, hastened by when she'd made the leap—and not just of faith—straight into his arms.

Then came the speakeasy, and the dress, and the realization that Tina was every inch a _woman._ Probably more woman than he could ever hope to handle, but Newt has never been known to back away from a challenge.

She takes him home and scrapes together the pieces of him after the subway battle, and allows him to stay. She soothes him from his nightmares—sometimes of the girl in Sudan, sometimes of Graves and his torture, but usually of her distress as they were being led to the Death Chamber—and gives him the stuff pleasant dreams are made of instead. She shares herself with him, allows him to experience her naked and _wanting_ while breathlessly imploring him to alleviate _her_ aches.

Tina draws him to her flame again the next night, and the night after. _You need a giver,_ Queenie had said, and he thinks he's beginning to understand what she meant. Tina, his Tina, gives and gives and asks for nothing in return. He takes and takes, because he is helpless to do otherwise, and she doesn't complain. Seems to revel in the giving, in fact.

Now it's his last day in New York. Their last day together. And, for the first time in the entirety of his life, the world outside pales in comparison to the one here, locked in this apartment and _close to her._ It is too big, too loud; it's gray and without feature or magic; it doesn't compare to her, and he is no longer sure that forcing himself out the door and back to his duties is worth the pain of loss.

 _How hard you've fallen for her, old chap!_ he thinks bitterly and puts his head in his hands.

* * *

Tina is gray today too, he notes. She spends some of her time in the case with him but more of it upstairs with Queenie. Sometimes, when he walks into his shed to fetch some item or another, he can hear the soft murmur of their voices, tones modulated and comfortable.

The sound fills his chest with some unknown emotion. It puts him in mind of cozy blankets and wooded glens and warm hearths. It makes him long for a home he does not have and forces Newt to bitterly shore up his resolve and harden himself to the coming, inevitable despair.

 _You're leaving,_ he reminds himself sternly, and winces when his internal voice laughs derisively at him.

* * *

Their last supper is a strained affair.

Queenie tries to lift them both, but the heavy pall of their thoughts weighs her down. By the time they're finishing dessert, she's choking on repressed tears while throwing them pitying looks. Newt wants to reassure them both that everything will work out, but he can't even convince _himself_ of that, so he keeps his eyes riveted to the tablecloth and says nothing.

Tina watches miserably when Queenie beats a hasty retreat. Newt makes a heroic effort to rally. "It's not all bad," he croaks around the lump in his throat. "I will write to you each week, and I'm sure to come through New York again. Perhaps we can see each other then."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Tina's lips wobble but her eyes harden, snapping at him from across the table.

"I wouldn't want to be an inconvenient _afterthought,_ Mr. Scamander," she seethes and flings her napkin down before retreating unsteadily to the bedroom. The pocket door snaps emphatically shut behind her, and he winces and returns his eyes to the table.

 _There. Happy now?_

"No," Newt says miserably and rises to wash the dishes by hand as penance.

* * *

The fire has burned low, and Newt is...if not drunk, then well on the way to it. Everything has a pleasantly soft, _fuzzy_ quality, and he tosses back the whiskey in his glass before squinting at it morosely. That's the last of it, and he won't be able to procure more until he lands in England. Not legally, at any rate, and certainly not at this hour.

He sighs and rolls his head against the back of the couch, eyes drifting closing in pained self-reproach.

"Are you alright?"

It's little more than a whisper but it's enough to make him start violently. He's reminded of the last time he received a fright on this couch, and his mind instantly recalls events that are entirely the _wrong_ thing to think about while attempting to drink away his troubles. Tears fill his eyes until he wipes them away briskly.

"...Fine. 'M fine."

Tina sits next to him gingerly, perched on the edge of a cushion like a beast poised to flee. She takes in the empty bottle and cloudy glass with a disapproving frown. "You know that's illegal here," she reminds him, her tone sharp.

Newt snorts disdainfully and snaps his head up. " _Bollocks_ to your contrary laws," he growls. He swallows down the bile coating the back of his throat before taking a fortifying breath and letting it out slowly, regaining tentative control of his anger and frustration. "I don't appreciate _any_ decree putting stipulations on what you can or cannot drink—or whom you are allowed to _love,_ " he finally husks out, knowing it's dangerous territory for them and not caring in the slightest.

Tina seems to accept this. She picks at her slacks, speaking to her lap as she answers. "I know. And I agree. Queenie is so sad, and you and I—" She cut herself off and Newt snorts ruefully.

"You and I can't help but dance around the issue," he finishes with a grandiose hand gesture, only to thread his fingers together before leaning his forehead against them, breathing slow and shallow. "I wish I had more whiskey," he murmurs to himself, knowing it's the _last_ thing he needs.

A rustle at his side, and a thunk, and when he glances up there's a full glass before him. He quirks a brow while reaching for it.

"Is that what you and Queenie were talking about the other day? Down in the case?"

Newt swallows convulsively until the burning leaves his throat. He gropes for a moment to recall the conversation—and doesn't wish to answer when he does. The alcohol compels him to be honest, however, and he feels a slow fissure of appreciation for her mettle. _Crafty little witch,_ he thinks affectionately, and in that moment allows himself to believe he could love her.

"We were talking about school," he finally settles on. Newt speaks to the glass in his hand, knowing that meeting her eyes now would spell disaster. The steamship ticket sits heavily in his pocket, and more than once he's had to resist the urge to toss it into the fire. "We were also speaking of...other things." He chances a look at her from the very corner of his eye, where the firelight plays on her skin, painting her in light and shadow. _Beautiful._

Tina leans further into the couch, shoulders relaxing. She shifts closer to him under the pretext of tucking a blanket around their legs. Newt smirks and sips his drink until she settles. He offers her the glass and she hesitates before plucking it from him and taking a pull. He watches her lips ply the edge for longer than necessary, and he has to jerk his eyes away with a physical effort.

"What were these other things?" she eventually asks, and he needs a moment to remember the topic of their conversation.

"I was expelled, as you know," he says, in place of _love, Tina. We spoke of love, and love lost._ Newt scrubs his upper lip and watches the smoldering wood in the fireplace. "It was never upheld so I was able to graduate, though it was without fanfare. I left the day before the rest of my class. Brought terrible shame on my family. My brother wouldn't speak to me for weeks."

She shifts, and her feet bump into his leg. Slender fingers wrap around her ankle before she can draw back, rubbing the spur of bone there. Tina sighs raggedly and tucks her toes beneath his thigh. He exhales slowly when she looks at him expectantly.

"I...fell in love with the wrong person," he finally settles on, knowing it to be the truest, simplest explanation. Newt feels her stiffen so he fans his fingers over her skin, stroking soothingly. He hums and rubs his fingers over the ridge of her tendon until she relaxes. Tina sighs, and her breath drifts over his arm.

"Her name was Leta Lestrange. She was much like me, in that she had a fascination with creatures. She was _not_ like me in that she had a meanness about her. One day in our fifth year, she loosed one of her creatures in the Great Hall. A student was hurt, not badly, and she was already on academic probation for other incidences. So I stepped up and took the blame. I expected her to help me clear my name; instead, she sent me a Howler and cut off contact with me."

Newt squeezes her before smoothing his fingers over her calf. "Her father was on the school board and was the one who spearheaded the campaign for my expulsion. Professor Dumbledore fought on my behalf and rallied the other teachers and board members. Thus, I was able to finish my education."

Newt turns and speaks to her shoulder. "I quickly realized she _wanted_ to get caught. She _wanted_ to take the blame. But I buggered her plans up. She had no desire to be bartered like cattle for the sake of familial aspirations. She's married now, I imagine. I wouldn't know."

He chances a look up at her eyes, and his breath stops. Tina looks equal parts sad and elated, transfixed and betrayed. "Were you and she ever more than friends?" she asks in a hoarse whisper.

Newt closes his eyes. He wishes desperately he could lie but knows it isn't possible at this moment. He reaches out to reclaim his glass and knocks back the remainder, welcoming the slide from tipsy to drunk.

"Yes," he intones after the alcohol has lubricated his tongue. He very carefully sets the glass on the table and raises his other hand to pet the arch of her foot. "Her idea of a suitable birthday present was to divest me of my virginity when I turned 16, Tina. She was...not a good person to me, or for me."

Tina wriggles her toes and Newt runs the tip of fingers over them, tickling briefly before returning his attention to her instep. "Was there anyone else?"

Newt rolls his head onto his left shoulder, suddenly unable to support its weight. "There was a woman, during the war. A Ukrainian prostitute, if you can believe it—one whom I grew quite attached to while I was stationed there. She was...quite pretty, in her own way. If Leta made me feel dirty, then Katerina made me feel _clean,_ despite her profession. She taught me many things, including how to please a woman. I left shortly before the war ended and returned to England. We corresponded a few times, and I paid her a visit once or twice in my travels, but eventually, the friendship waned."

Newt's fingers creep further up her leg, massaging the bend of her knee. Tina allows this, finally relaxing into him with a sigh. Newt leans over to press a kiss to her kneecap before struggling back upright. He doesn't quite make it, ending up half-sprawled across her while wrapping his arms around her thighs.

"You're very comfortable," he purrs.

Tina snorts. "Newt. You can't sleep on me."

"Well. I'd rather sleep _with_ you if we're being honest, but I'm afraid I'm in no fit state." He manages to bring one eye to half-mast, watching her in the low light. She looks skeptical and a little sad, so he puts forth a concentrated effort and sits up straight. Taking her hand is easier, and infusing his voice with raw honesty is easier still. He pulls her into him and she doesn't resist, sprawling against his chest so he can press kisses to her hair.

"I would like you to be in my bed tonight. We won't do anything, our clothes will remain on, but I'd like to hold you, if I may." He gives her what he hopes is an imploring look.

Tina smiles and touches his cheek before tasting the whiskey on his tongue. He melts into it, welcoming her into him for perhaps the last time, and feeling her loss acutely when she leans away.

"C'mon. Let's go to bed, Newt."


	7. Chapter 7

_**December 14, 1926**_

They wake in each other's arms and lie silently to watch the clock wind down to the inevitable.

Newt takes extra care at his morning toilet. He sets his boots to polish and his clothes to freshen while cleaning himself, shaving with a fussiness not employed since his time in the army and brushing his teeth twice to chase away the whiskey-staleness of the morning. He even combs his hair out of his eyes — a useless gesture, but he supposes it's the idea that counts. It spills over his brow as soon as his comb is tucked away, and he sighs and gives it up for a lost cause.

Tina wears a skirt, a rare occasion. The full A-line is edged with subtle black lace, a Victorian throwback she secretly loves. She chooses to top it with her sturdy work blouse but covers it with a rather elegant duster. She wears black, sculpted-heel boots instead of her typical brogues, and her stockings of raw silk. Tina polishes her boots and carefully brushes her hair, and when tears threaten she thinks of her sister and what she's enduring, day by painful day—and that makes it a little easier.

They meet in the sitting room, and it's their first time in this space all over again. They each pretend not to notice the small wardrobe changes in the other. Tina watches him avidly, looking for any sign, any _clue_ of what he's thinking. Newt can't or won't meet her eyes, studiously avoiding giving away his thoughts, and too soon it's time to leave.

Queenie is the freest of them, and there's no shame in her parting tears. Newt allows her to hug him and closes his eyes when she brushes his cheek with a kiss.

* * *

His ship is scheduled to leave at noon, and his general dislike of crowds means they wait until the very last minute to arrive.

They march to the foot of the gangplank before hovering uncertainly, Newt striving for stoicism, and Tina unable to keep from gnawing her lip. He turns to her and she releases it, allowing herself to smile genuinely at him.

 _I'll miss you,_ she thinks through the pall of sadness weighing down her mind, _but I'm going to survive this. I have to because you'd be disappointed in me if I did anything else._

Newt returns her smile with one of his own, his eyes skittering to her face to gauge the expression she wears. He firms the line of his lips to hide their trembling while squaring his shoulders. "Well, it's been..." There are no words adequate enough to encompass all that he's feeling, so he lets them trail away into nothing.

"Hasn't it!" Tina exclaims, shielding an ocean of doubt behind pride and cautious hope.

Newt looks up at her and he can feel that his emotions are telegraphed plainly across his face, leaving him feeling horribly exposed.

Tina smiles gently. "Listen, Newt, I wanted to thank you."

He drops his gaze, confused but hopeful. "What on earth for?" He holds his breath.

"Well, you know," Tina begins softly, "if you hadn't said all those nice things about me to Madam Picquery—I wouldn't be back on the Investigative Team now." It's not what she wants to say, or what she wants to talk about, or even what she wants to thank him for—but it's neutral and safe, and it takes some of the ache of separation out of her heart. _Their_ heart.

Newt smiles slightly. "Well — I can't think of anyone I'd rather have investigating me." It's both the right and wrong thing to say, and he winces. It's not what he meant but it's also _truer_ than anything he's said so far today. He grimaces awkwardly and drops his eyes to her boots.

Tina smiles appreciatively, suddenly shy but allowing for tender warmth to infuse her chest. She can't resist teasing him, just a little. "Well, try not to need investigating for a bit."

Newt's smile ratchets up in intensity, echoing her thoughts, but his eyes remain fixed on their shoes. His freckled cheeks, she realizes, are pink with a blush. "I will. Quiet life for me from now on...back to the Ministry...deliver my manuscript..."

Tina ducks her head in an attempt to catch his eyes. "I'll look out for it. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ "

Newt's head snaps up to look at her, and his gaze is _naked._ Hope, longing, pain, they're all written clearly across his features—a reflection of her own turbulent feelings. Tina wants nothing more than to reach out a hand and smooth them away. To see him smile with his entire face before leaving, instead of looking as though his world is ending.

He does attempt a smile after a beat or two, but it's weaker even than the December sun, and it falls almost immediately.

Tina scrambles to regain ground against the _magnitude_ of her impending loss and asks the first question that comes to mind. "Does Leta Lestrange like to read?"

The hurt look slips from his face, only to be replaced with one of confusion. Newt blinks, and she watches his eyes grow suspiciously shiny. "Who?" He asks, and she knows it's not a contrivance.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest as tears cloud her vision. "The girl whose picture you carry—"

"I don't really know what Leta likes these days because people change," Newt speaks quickly, urgently, before swallowing. He blinks, apparently to gather his courage. There's a flash of pink when he moistens his lips, his eyes heavy with unshed tears.

Tina closes her own eyes for a moment in a bid to regain control of her galloping emotions. "Yes."

"I've changed," he goes on, eyes never leaving her face, and she can see a dawning realization there. "I think. Maybe a little." _You've changed me_ is left unspoken, but it's there in the subtext. Newt's vision blurs and it's his turn to scrabble against the expanding pain in his chest.

Tina presses her lips firmly together to keep them from trembling and allows the sense-memory of his hands and his mouth to ripple across her skin.

The ship's siren sounds then, causing Newt to jerk his head around with a grimace. Then he turns back to her and she allows herself to really _look_ at him for the first time today, lovingly detailing his features and committing them to memory.

He meets her gaze unflinchingly and holds it. "I'll send you a copy of my book, if I may."

Tina holds her breath to choke back a sob. "I'd like that."

Newt stares a moment more, drinking in her features. He recalls the touch of her hand, the feel of her mouth—the heavy silk of her hair spilling between his fingers. Blinking against the pain, he raises his hand to brush the apple of her cheek before tucking her hair behind her dainty ear. He lingers a beat to savor the texture of her, his scarred and calloused paw a sharp contrast to her flawless skin.

Then he takes one last, long look, a _lovers_ look, before turning away abruptly.

He's nearly to the gangplank when a thought occurs. It burns through the gray shrouding his thoughts like hot July sun through fog and stuns him in place. His eyes widen as he catches his breath before turning and running back to her, unwilling to give himself a chance to change his mind or talk himself out of it.

Tina's touching her cheek shakily and choking back tears when he approaches. It hurts to look at her so he doesn't, choosing instead to admire the shine on her boots. She looks up quickly when he skids to a halt in front of her, and he can feel her holding her breath.

"I'm so sorry—how would you feel if I gave you your copy in person?"

Newt sends a quick prayer up to Merlin or Paracelsus or whoever may favor awkward magizoologists before chancing a look at her face. The tears remain but now she's smiling dazzlingly, the way she'd smiled when he'd woken besides her in the morning, and fed her lunch at her desk at work, and sat with him in his case—

His heart stops, just for a moment.

"I'd like that—very much." She laughs and sobs at the same time, and Newt's heart restarts only to beat in triple-time. His own eyes are heavy with tears but he smiles all the same. Her grin remains, and he looks at it one last time, a drought of life-saving water prior to crossing the desert, before tearing himself away.

Newt strides up the gangplank, feeling her eyes following him when he stops just short of the top and takes a fortifying breath. He wants to turn around and take one last look, but he _cannot_ —the urge to run back to her arms, to kiss her and claim her as his own is almost overwhelming. Turning back now would destroy his already unsteady resolve.

 _I'd give up my life's work for you, Tina,_ he realizes dazedly. _Please don't think I won't come back for you because I will. We'll survive this together, and we will be stronger for it in the end._

The revelation and acceptance of these feelings infuse him with profound strength until he's able to gulp and continues on nearly at a jog. The ship's mate tips his hat in welcome while Newt manages a stuttering nod, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Then he's inside the hatch, back at sea, and his Tina is left behind.

He hooks to the right sharply, finding a conveniently placed porthole, and she's still there, standing with her hands in her pockets and smiling after him faintly. Newt presses his fingertips to his lips, remembering the taste and feel of her, the luminosity of her smile and the scent of her skin. He watches as she moves away, at last allowing his tears to roll down his face—entirely unconcerned with who witnesses them.

 _Soon,_ he thinks, and it's a promise etched in his heart.

Tina turns and tilts her head back to smile at the sky. She breathes deep and recalls the feel of a warm male body next to and beneath hers, calloused hands carding through her hair, an endearingly crooked smile.

 _Soon,_ she thinks, and it's an extension of their unspoken covenant, forged in skin and passion.

She skips a step in joy and Newt chokes where he watches, smiling through his tears. He closes his eyes and pressing his hot face into the cool glass. There he remains until the ship's engines thrum beneath his feet and his Tina is a distant speck, merging with the rest of the vibrant New York throng. Then he staggers off to find his quarters.

Tina leaves Port Authority with a smile, warmed entirely from within—and the ship, unconcerned with such petty mortal foibles as love and loss, steams its way out of the harbor.

* * *

 **Author's note** : You can find me on Tumblr (username: katiehavok) if that's your thing. I would recommend seeking me out there—it's the best place to find me if you wish to keep track of my works, and I _always_ accept prompts and requests for Newt/Tina and Newt/Queenie. Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading and general encouragements.


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